


Retinue

by TheRedWulf



Series: Stansa One Shots [25]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, F/M, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fuck Canon, Loss of Virginity, Lust, Mutual Pining, Negotiations, Not Canon Compliant, Pregnancy, Sexual Tension, Smut, Stannis the Mannis, Stannis wins Blackwater, Strong!Stannis, Wedding Night, canon AU, plot holes, sassy!sansa, stansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:13:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22875334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - Canon - In which King Stannis Baratheon finds himself negotiating the surrender of the North with a very stubborn Lady...Picset is viewableHERE
Relationships: Stannis Baratheon & Sansa Stark, Stannis Baratheon/Sansa Stark
Series: Stansa One Shots [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1405915
Comments: 37
Kudos: 287





	Retinue

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a while ago, with no plan or idea. I only knew that I needed a strong Stannis and sassy Sansa coming together with some delicious banter and sexual tension. I hope you enjoy this. This pairing will forever be my main ship--a yacht if you will, and I will not apologize for my continual drabbles.
> 
> I don't consider myself a writer. This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any errors. :D :P Thank you for reading!

“Your Grace” Davos looked rather distressed as he entered the King’s solar. Stannis immediately set his quill aside to face his Lord Hand. “The Stark retinue has been spotted on the outskirts of the city.” 

“Right on time, then. At least they’re punctual” Stannis paused, realizing that Davos was still frowning. “What’s wrong?” 

“The Lady--that is to say, Lady Sansa Stark is with them” Davos explained and Stannis’ face fell. 

“She’s come a long way” he frowned. “This certainly cannot be good.”

“I have already asked the maids to prepare a room for her” Davos explained. “They are doing their best to work quickly.”

“Good work” Stannis nodded. “I suppose I should prepare to greet her--tell me, how does one greet the woman who refuses to bend the knee to her rightful king?” he smoothed his black leather doublet and moved with Davos, walking alongside his most trusted friend and advisor towards the Great Hall. 

“I cannot rightly say, Your Grace, it is a rather unique and delicate situation” Davos chuckled, he was one of the few people who appreciated Stannis’ dry, if rare, humor. 

Stannis had been in King’s Landing nearly a year now, having taken the city with a successful invasion of Blackwater Bay and removing the Lannister usurpers from the Iron Throne. It had cost him his wife and had cost Davos his eldest son, but the battle and city had been theirs. After the dust and muck settled, the realm settled into relative peace. 

Peace except for a stubborn Northwoman who simply refused to accept his rule from the South. 

Lady Sansa Stark had been in King’s Landing for several years before his invasion, having watched Robert’s fall and Joffrey’s reign of terror, escaping narrowly with her life at the side of Sandor Clegane--The Hound. Rumor said that The Hound was in love with her, that is why he turned away from his duty, stole her in the darkness and smuggled her to safety during the Blackwater battle. 

She had returned to the North, gathered her bannermen and solidified her reign as Wardeness of North. From all that he had heard of her, she seemed to lead her people fairly and with a poised yet firm hand, easily picking up her Father’s mantle and doing it justice. But when the time came to swear fealty, to bend the knee, she refused. She had been a thorn in his side since the beginning and he had finally written her and instructed her to bend the knee or he would simply take the North by force. 

She had replied simply that she would send a ‘retinue’ to King’s Landing, to negotiate. He had ground his teeth at this deliberate display of disobedience, wondering which simpering Northman he would have to talk with in order to settle this matter once and for all. 

It seemed he now had his answer. 

He was to go toe-to-toe with the Lady herself, this should prove interesting. 

He entered the Great Hall at the same time the gilded entrance doors opened and the Stark party was escorted in. It was fortunate that he was well versed in schooling his expression, as he immediately had to cover the shock that coursed through him at the sight of Lady Sansa Stark in the flesh. 

By all accounts, she was a reputed beauty, Tully in look, like her mother with not an ounce of Ned Stark visible in her features. Which, to be honest, was fortunate for her. However the reality of Lady Sansa Stark was nearly overwhelming. She was tall, the tallest woman he had ever seen aside from the Tarth heiress, but unlike the Tarth heiress, Sansa was...stunning. Poised and elegant, taking command of the room without even trying. She was beyond beautiful or anything he had seen in his near forty years. 

From her fiery hair, styled in the Northern fashion, to her modest black dress and black leather belt that emphasized her slender waist, she was perfection. She was covered from the neck down, even her hands were hidden by black leather gloves, and she carried a look of ice in her bright blue eyes. Over her shoulders was a deep grey cloak, the silver and black fur of a great Northern beast--a direwolf perhaps, around her neck. 

He had never seen a woman with a more regal bearing, Queen or Lady alike, her spine of steel was evident and quite admirable. 

Behind her as expected, was the hulking form of The Hound, clad not in his Kingsguard armor but the boiled leather armor of a Stark warrior, a snarling direwolf emblazoned across his chest. The Hound looked cleaner--more sober than Stannis had ever seen him, and his hair was pulled back with a leather throng, displaying his scarred visage. The man, once burdened by Lannister rule and a monstrous older brother, now had a proud, arrogant tilt to his bearded chin. It seemed Sandor Clegane had found peace in the North.

“Lady Sansa Stark” Davos greeted her. “King Stannis Baratheon, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.” 

“Six by my last count” she corrected smoothly, bowing her head to him in acknowledgment. “Your Grace.” 

“Have you come to bend the knee?” he asked simply, in no mood to waste time with pleasantries and small talk. 

“Perhaps” she gave a soft smile. “I come as a representative of the entire North. I felt this discussion--our negotiation, was best done face to face, _Your Grace_.” 

“You traveled all the way to King’s Landing, a traitor and deserter at your back--” 

“You’ll find that often times when a King is corrupt, when a King is mad, then vows--spoken or not, must be broken” she reasoned. 

“Vows are simply that, vows. They cannot be broken.” 

“But they can” she argued. “And they should be. Any man who would blindly follow a vow, an order--even to his own detriment or the detriment of those innocents caught in the crossfire, is not a man at all but a sheep.”

He had been in her presence for mere moments and he already wanted to shake her, how was that possible? He wanted to grab those proud shoulders of hers and shake sense into her. He wanted to...Gods--

“I never took vows” The Hound suddenly spoke. “I turned my back on the Lannisters, aye, buggering cunts they were. But I broke no vows, Your Grace.” 

“Your Grace” Sansa spoke and he turned back to her, watching as she removed her gloves. Her fingers were just as pale as the porcelain of her face, slender and elegant. He had never noticed a woman’s hands before, not in such a way that made him wonder what they would feel like against his bare skin--they were hands made for pleasures of the flesh and the fact that he noticed that nearly put him off his guard. 

“Lady Sansa?” he replied. 

“Shall we continue antagonizing each other straight away, or can we spare a moment for luncheon? I admit I am frightfully hungry.” 

“Perhaps,” he suggested. “We could antagonize each other over lunch?”

Her features softened as a genuine--not schooled, smile passed her lips, “What a lovely invitation, I accept.” 

She had seen King Robert, the fat. Had seen King Joffrey, the cunt. But King Stannis was something else entirely. Tall--taller than even The Hound’s great height, with broad shoulders and a lean frame that had been built to wear armor. 

This, she decided immediately upon seeing him, was what a King should look like. 

She had not set out to be deliberately bothersome, to become the sore thumb of the Seven Kingdoms, but war had already torn the North apart too many times for her to simply lay down and accept another Southron ruler without question. Stannis Baratheon was his brother’s rightful heir, yes, but that did not make him her King, not without the parameters that would see to the best interests of her people. 

She had been reticent as a means to learn the true character of King Stannis Baratheon, to see if, despite all accounts to the contrary, he was like his elder brother and would immediately march to conquer the North. He hadn’t, though he did threaten it. Instead he sent a warning, taken every measurable precaution to prevent an invasion and end this like civilized adults. She admired that.

She had discussed it with the other Lords of the North, spending nearly a sennight reviewing every possible point, and then she had travelled as emissary to ensure that their terms were met. The North had trusted her with this task, and she could not fail. She would not fail. 

The last time she had been in King’s Landing, she had been a frightened girl of nearly a score of years in age, but she had lived a lot in the year since her escape, had taken up her Father’s mantle to become the Warden of the North and the woman she had always meant to be. Now, as she sat in the King’s courtyard across from Stannis Baratheon, she was a woman grown and force of nature in her own right. She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell, she was not frightened. Her experiences, both good and bad, had well-prepared for this proverbial battle.

“Tell me, Lady Sansa” Stannis began, leaning back against his chair with a cocky--almost arrogant tilt of his shoulders. “Why travel all this way?” 

Though he only wore a deep black leather doublet, breeches and boots, he still looked every inch the warrior King he’d become. His hair had long since begun to lose its color, fading to a lovely silver and his mouth looked as if it had never seen a smile, still he was a handsome--if imposing man. 

She had, of course, heard tales and stories of his exploits on the battlefield, some of which were directly from her Father’s lips as he spoke of the Siege of Storm’s End and the leadership Stannis had shown. All of them had helped her to expect his cold behavior and sharp jaw, but they hadn’t prepared her for the deep timbre of his voice that seemed to be roughed, like aged whisky. It was quite disconcerting.

“Distance is but a paltry thing when you can see for yourself the true mettle of a man” she explained, lifting her water goblet to her lips to take a sip. From the corner of her eye she could see Sandor standing impassive and proud at the edge of the courtyard, hiding well his discomfort at being back in the Red Keep. 

Sandor had become the unlikeliest of friends and her most trusted advisor since their escape from the city. He had been drunk during the battle, that was true, but he hadn’t touched alcohol since and had renewed his dedication to his life as a not-quite-knight, swearing his sword to her and taking his position at her side. 

She knew that with him here she would be safe. No matter what the city could throw at them. It had already thrown riots, attacks, mad kings and wildfyre at them, they could survive anything at this point. 

“Is that what you’re doing, testing my mettle?” Stannis asked.

“Perhaps” Sansa set her glass aside as a maid brought out a tray of bread, cheese and meat, Sansa immediately grabbed a piece of both, lifting them with a delicate hand. “But it is necessary in this ‘game of thrones’.” 

“Game” he scoffed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a scowl. She chewed and swallowed at a deliberately slow pace, hoping to knock the King off-guard.

“I was told once that in this game, you either win or you die” she added, the words nearly sending a shiver down her own spine, memories clawing at the back of her mind. “While I care not for my own life, I will protect the interests of the North with all that I am.” 

He watched her for several moments, the thoughts dancing behind the deep blue of his eyes impossible to discern, “You are not as naive as your Father was” he stated without preamble, grabbing a piece of cheese from the tray.

“I would pray not” she agreed. “He placed his trust in the wrong people, he believed all people to be as honorable as men in the North, and he lost his head for it.” 

“I am sorry that you had to witness such atrocities” Stannis said and she nodded in thanks. She looked away as he slipped the piece of cheese into his mouth, focusing on her goblet for a brief moment before turning back to him. 

“I have watched too many people die, which is why I am here to ensure that the North will not be torn asunder by Southron wars again” she said simply. 

“An admirable goal, I suppose” he conceded with a small shrug.

“And yet you disapprove?” she ventured. 

“I am not in the habit of negotiating for what is mine by right” he replied. “As Robert’s heir, I find myself here in King’s Landing ruling over a realm that has for some time teetered on the edge of collapse. I have worked tirelessly for the good of the people, people who have no wish to declare me their King. I have done nothing but dedicate myself to my duty. I do not need to prove who or what I am--to anyone. I did not aspire to be the King, and yet the King I am. The last piece of the chaos is the North, and so I find myself here with the woman who has deemed it necessary to test me, to--” 

“I do” she interrupted, not missing the slight flare of his nostrils at her audacity. “It is absolutely necessary when you have seen what I have seen--lived what I have lived. I have seen madness and gluttony, whoremongers and warmongers, and the North was left to pay the price time and time again. This time, however, I will protect the North. I will do anything necessary for the good of my people.” 

“Duty, always duty” he shook his head. “Tell me, do I pass muster, Lady Sansa?” the way he said her name made her hackles rise and she did her very best to still her hand from throwing her water in his face. 

“Your Grace--”

“Have I proven myself _worthy_ of being your King?” his eyes were cold now, slightly narrowed as if he were trying to see right through her flesh and to the core of her. Though he was likely angry, she could hardly tell, he was a man well-versed in remaining stoic. 

“That’s what I am here to find out, isn’t it?” she raised her goblet to her lips, taking another drink. She held his eye contact as she sipped the cool water, surprised at the hint of lemon lingering on her tongue. When she set her goblet back on the table, their stare was broken and he looked briefly to his Lord Hand--Ser Davos Seaworth, a man Sansa heard much tale of over the years. The two men shared a silent conversation, one that only absolute trust and friendship enabled, and then he turned back to her with calmer eyes. 

“You’ll simply have to let me know when you’ve made your decision” his lips played at a smirk and she felt hope--and something far more terrifying blossom in her chest. King Stannis Baratheon, ruler of the Seven and proud stag, was so much more than she had anticipated, and for the first time in over a year, she wasn’t sure what to do. 

“Well that went well” Davos chuckled as Stannis stormed into the King’s solar, pacing to the fireplace and back several times before facing his Lord Hand. 

“She’s insufferable!” 

“How so?” Davos frowned. “I thought she was quite effective.” 

“Effective? Effective at what?” Stannis pinched the bridge of his nose and sank into the chair behind his desk. 

“Getting your goat” Davos laughed, crossing to sit across from him. 

“Some friend you are” Stannis sighed, hating to admit that Davos was completely right. There was something about Lady Sansa Stark that cut through him, made him feel more exposed than he had since he was a small boy caring for a wounded Goshawk. 

She was intelligent, that much was evident straight away, but she was also calm and collected, even when faced with his angriest glower. He admired her dedication to her duty, to the protection and welfare of her people, and could not fault her for going to great lengths to ensure their safety. 

She had survived Robert and survived Joffrey’s madness. She had learned well from her treatment in the capitol and wasn’t going to let it happen again. Something he could not fault her for.

“Lady Sansa is here to protect her people” Davos said with a shrug. “Once you have assured her that the North will not bear the brunt of another war, she will accept your rule.” 

“Insufferable” Stannis muttered, resting his head against the back of the chair. “Obstinate!”

“Would it be easier, Your Grace, if she were less beautiful?” Davos asked and Stannis immediately raised his head to glare at his old friend. 

“What a ridiculous question” Stannis countered. 

“Of course, my apologies” Davos turned away, hiding his smile and Stannis wanted to groan in exasperation. Beauty--physical beauty, had never turned his head before, it was ridiculous to think it would now. 

Nevermind the way her full lips had parted each time she lifted a piece of meat or cheese to them. Nevermind the way she hid those secretive smiles of hers with the rim of her goblet. Gods be damned---

“Of course not!” he insisted.

Though… 

“Shall I bring Marya to dinner?” Davos interrupted Stannis’ thoughts. “It may make it easier, having another woman at the table.” 

“Of course” Stannis nodded, abruptly standing as the idea struck him. “In fact, bring the whole brood. We’ll not stand on ceremony with Lady Sansa. She wants to see the mettle of her King, we’ll show her the damned mettle of _her King_!” he stormed out of the room, striding back down the hallway without a specific destination in mind. 

Never, not even on his disaster of a wedding night, had he felt this out of sorts, this uncomfortable in his own skin. He had to walk--needed air, or he’d surely suffocate to death in this Gods forsaken keep.

He walked until he had reached the unfamiliar path to the Godswood, his footsteps nearly unheard as he crossed the stones and entered the sacred place. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see her here, hair as bright as the Weirwood leaves themselves, but he was and drew up short at the sight of her sitting on the stone bench. 

He watched her from his hidden vantage point, watched as the stiff posture she’d held so solidly at lunch melted and her shoulders began to sag. Before his eyes the cold armor she had donned to face him faded away and he was left to see her in her true form. Her jaw relaxed, her head tilted forward, and he listened to her soft prayers. 

“Give me strength, as you have so often before” she said softly. “Give me resolve and strength of heart, to do what is right. I cannot fail. Please...grant me this modicum of peace.” 

She let her head fall to her hands and he felt as if he were watching a lost girl beg for her family, for help. He stiffened as he realized that the last time she had been here, she _had_ been a lost girl begging for help. She had been a prisoner, trapped with her family’s murderers and unable to escape. Balancing on the edge of hope and despair. She hadn’t let it defeat her, however, she had used it to make her stronger, just as he had used the siege of Storm’s End to steel his resolve. 

Admiration for her stirred once more in his gut, but there was something else--something deeper, that raced through his blood like the wildfyre that had nearly consumed his fleet. It was terrifying, and he pushed it away--physically turned away from the scene and made his way back to the keep.

The chaos that greeted her when she arrived in the private dining room for dinner, was certainly not one she expected. She had been prepared for another cold meal across from the King, but instead found several young boys running around the room, playing at some sort of battle game, while Davos and Stannis watched from the table. 

“Lady Sansa” they both stood when they spotted her arrival and she bowed her head in response. 

“Your Grace, Lord Hand” she greeted, then looked to the older, dark-haired woman sitting beside Davos. 

“My wife, Lady Marya” Davos made the introductions. “This is Lady Sansa Stark, who has travelled from Winterfell to bend the knee.” 

Subtle, she inwardly scoffed.

“Lovely to meet you---Devan, you’ll put your brother’s eye out with that” she broke off, turning away to take a ‘sword’ from one of the small boys. 

“My sons, Marric, Devan, Stannis and Steffon” Davos pointed to the boys.

“It is lovely to meet you all” Sansa couldn’t help but smile at the chaos of the boys. They reminded her of Bran, Rickon and Arya in their younger years, wild and carefree. 

“We do not stand on ceremony for private meals” Stannis explained, motioning to a chair to his right, which put her directly across from Davos. Davos who didn’t seem to care much for her company. She couldn’t blame him, truly. It was clear that his loyalty lay with Stannis and she could not fault him for supporting his Liege Lord. 

“I am glad to see that, Your Grace” she crossed and took the chair, a butler helping her to scoot forward as she sat. 

Seeing the King in this more relaxed setting was quite surprising. She didn’t imagine that he was a man to suffer the noise of children willingly, but he seemed quite comfortable around them. Even when one of the younger ones--Stannis perhaps? approached, he spoke softly to the boy who ran up to his chair with a smile on his face. It was clear that, to this boy, Stannis was not ‘the King’ but family.

It struck her then, in that moment, that Stannis was not just a warrior king. He was a man in possession of something even more rare, a heart. He listened to the boy, his attention locked on the story the boy was weaving regarding the toy soldier he held, and he responded in kind. Stannis was a man who would be, in her mind, an incredible Father. She almost choked as the thought raced through her mind and she quickly pushed it away as one would overcooked meat.

“So you’ve come from Winterfell?” Marya prompted as she rejoined them and took her seat beside Davos. 

“I have, by way of White Harbor” Sansa replied.

“You sailed rather than travel through land?” the King asked. 

“I did, it was much faster and I find that I prefer the open air of the water to sludging through The Twins” she explained. 

“I would have thought you’d have stopped at Riverrun on your journey” he added. 

“I have no need to impose upon my Uncle, I have much more important things to handle here in the capitol,” Sansa assured him, knowing that she would gladly sail out of her way to avoid Edmure’s pretension.

“Anxious to bend the knee, I presume” Stannis said and she thought that the corner of his mouth nearly arched into a smile, but she could be mistaken. 

“Of course, Your Grace” she said as their dinner, a humble meat stew and fresh bread, arrived. She was grateful for such hearty fare, as she was starving. Their small luncheon hadn’t put a dent in the appetite she had worked up after a long sennight of travelling.

The meal passed with easy conversation, punctuated with curious questions from the younger Seaworths. They wanted to know about the North, specifically about the wolves and Wildlings, and so Sansa regaled them with tales of Ghost and Nymeria, her heart still aching for the loss of Lady. When those stories ran dry, she told them about Tormund and his accolades in the Far North--the ones safe for children, anyway. 

When their bellies were full, imaginations overwrought and their energy waning, the boys were carried and escorted back to the Hand’s chambers, leaving Sansa and Stannis alone in the private dining room. It momentarily passed through her mind that she hoped, sincerely, that the boys’ experiences in the Hand’s chambers were better than hers had been.

“Davos named his children for you?” Sansa prompted, pouring herself a small glass of Dornish red from the sidebar, watering it lightly before crossing to the large balcony. It was covered with plants and flowers, glowing in the evening sunset like a tropical garden. 

“For myself and my Father, yes” Stannis nodded. 

“You two are close” she noted. 

“Since the siege,” Stannis replied, a frown crossing his features before he schooled it away. “If it weren’t for Davos, we would have all died--so many already had.” 

“My Father used to talk about it, but only to Robb” Sansa said. “I would hide in the hallway and listen to the stories of the rebellion, of the horrors that had occured.” 

“War is never kind and rebellions are often far worse” he grabbed his goblet from the table and joined her on the balcony. 

“I never meant to be a thorn in your side, you know” she assured him with a soft smile. 

“I cannot fault you for protecting your people, that is what I seek to do here” he admitted. “I must do my duty as well, surely you can understand that?” 

She nodded, “I can, though it will not deter me from my course. I mean to see to my people’s needs first.” 

“Understandable.” 

A comfortable silence had lapsed between them, an unspoken understanding that settled into his bones and made it easier to relax. 

Dinner had been surprisingly pleasant. Even if the Seaworth boys had been in fine form, Sansa had taken it in stride and settled in without qualm. She seemed softer in the private dining room, as she had appeared in the Godswood, and he found his eyes drawn back to her again and again, drinking in every detail of her person. 

“I suspect that when I return North, I will be forced to marry and I find that I cannot stomach the idea of a political marriage” she said softly, breaking their silence. He turned to her in surprise, but found that she was still looking to the horizon, watching the sea beyond the walls. “Perhaps I travelled here as a means to delay that which I cannot avoid forever.” 

“As one who has endured a political marriage, I understand completely” he met her candid words with his own, doing his best to conceal how vulnerable it made him feel. He never spoke of emotions or feelings, and did his best to live apart from them, and in giving voice to them he felt like a fish out of water. 

“Tywin Lannister sought to marry me to Tyrion once” she said, and his eyebrows rose in surprise at the information. “I suppose he thought that Jaime was too infatuated with Cersei to do the job and was too old to do it himself.” 

The idea of Sansa being married to the Great Lion, a man in his seventies now, was not one that he wanted to linger on. He shouldn’t be surprised by this new information, Tywin Lannister wanted to gain control of the North and what better way to do that than marry his son to the eldest Stark daughter. 

“Clegane took you out of the city before that could happen, I presume?” Stannis asked. 

“He did” she nodded, finally turning to face him. “I know you imagine him to be a traitor, but he saved my life more than once. Joffrey was a monster, a being comprised solely of cruelty and malice, poisoning everything around him. I suffered at his hand, but Sandor--he chose to betray his King to save me. I will never hold those deeds against him.” 

“Is he your lover?” he asked plainly, unable to stop the words as soon as they’d formed on his tongue. 

Sansa’s eyes went wide, then crinkled shut as she laughed, shaking her head in the negative, “No” she answered, her laughter fading. “Though perhaps he onced wished it so. I could have easily traded my purity for escape, for rescue. But I have a duty to whomever I marry to come to the marriage bed a maid. Not to mention, his affections are not returned.” 

“The question was crude, I apologize” he clenched his jaw and turned away. 

“If it was, it is already forgiven” she assured him. “But it is a logical question, given the rumors and talk of us. I picked an odd sort of rescuer and advisor, I am well aware.” He gave a curt nod and distracted himself with drinking from his lemon water for several moments before she spoke again. “I suspect they’ll be pressuring you to marry soon, as well, Your Grace.” 

“They already are,” he admitted. “Though I have been busy dealing with a rather stubborn Northwoman.” 

“Oh?” she smirked. 

“My errant ‘Wardeness of the North’ refuses to bend the knee and accept the inevitable.” 

“Is it inevitable?”

“It is” he said resolutely. 

“You’re set to conquer the North then?” 

“Just it’s Wardeness” he boldly met her eyes, met the challenge there in her bright blue orbs. To his pleasure, Sansa did not back down either, but met him head on without giving an inch. At this distance, standing only a foot or so from her, the top of her head barely reached his shoulders, leaving him to tower over her her as he did most. But here with her, he didn’t feel so out of place.

“You’re going to conquer me then?” she asked, the soft pink of her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip and Stannis felt the action rocket through his bloodstream, his body tightening to the point of pain as he battled for control. 

“I daresay I’ve conquered more formidable” he said softly. 

“Formidable” she gave a small smile. “Not a word used to describe me before.” 

“Perhaps not in your presence” he suggested. 

“Perhaps” she agreed, turning back to watch the sunset. “I think I am going to enjoy negotiating with you, Your Grace.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Call it a gut feeling” she replied and he couldn’t help but agree, knowing the emotions whirling in his own gut were out of control. 

“I look forward to it” he replied and silence lapsed once more, this time as they watched the sun set over the Narrow Sea, both of them oddly content to simply exist beside the other in the twilight hours. 

“Shall we begin?” Sansa smiled, gracefully taking her seat across from Stannis at the Small Council table. Davos and Ser Axell Florent were also present, but she would be dealing directly with the King today. 

“Of course, Lady Stark” Stannis replied smoothly. “I shall let you lead us through these talks, as you have clearly brought notes” he glanced to the stack of papers that she had lay on the table top.

“Of course I brought notes, Your Grace” she reasoned, turning to a maid and requesting a pot of tea with lemon. “If one is not organized, then one can be cheated or taken advantage of. I seek to always be prepared.” 

“Lest I cheat you?” he countered. 

“Lest you cheat the North” she said without pause. At this, Ser Axell muttered something to himself and Sansa chose, at this time, to ignore him. Sworn to House Baratheon he may be, the tie was tenuous now that Selyse was dead and buried. She would allow him this small liberty but she would not permit him to insult her for long. 

Looking from her papers she noticed that the King was watching her closely, likely having noticed that she deliberately ignored Ser Axell’s slight against her. 

“First order of business?” Stannis prompted when she made no move to address the slight. 

“We seek right of refusal on any marriages arranged for a Northern citizen by the Iron Throne” she began, not surprised when the King’s brows rose at her request. 

“You certainly do not ease into things” he remarked. 

“Why waste time?” she offered flippantly. 

“Lady Stark” Ser Axell began, his tone holding more than just a note of condescension. “The King arranges marriages for the greater good, surely you can understand that his reasoning and choices—“

“Could be faulty” she cut him off, looking to the King. “You’re human, are you not, Your Grace?”

“I am” Stannis confirmed, raising a hand to silence Ser Axell when he began to protest once more. Stannis knew her reasoning for this, knew that political marriages were often heavily weighted toward one party or the other, and she did not wish for herself or anytime in the North to be unequally yoked. She did not wish for any title in the North to slip into Southron hands, lest they be manipulated. 

“What say you, Your Grace?” say asked him expectantly. 

“Like in all things, moderation is key,” Stannis began, idly tapping on the gilded arm to his chair with a long, masculine digit. She’s seen Tywin Lannister sitting in that chair once, the effect on her body hadn’t been nearly close to what she felt as she watched Stannis. Where Tywin ruled by intimidation, Stannis almost looked bored and unaffected as he thought. 

“Moderation?”

“While I am open to discussion regarding lower ranking bannermen and knights, I am not going to take second fiddle on arrangements regarding, say, a Stark marriage.”

Sansa leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing as she processed his words, “So myself and my sister cannot choose.”

“Your choice in the matter has never been an option” Stannis spoke plainly and she took several deep breaths to compose herself—to resist the urge to scream. 

“Your Grace—“

“I cannot afford to have a Stark alliance made upon a whim” he explained. “Your family is all but Northern Royalty and all that is left is two females and a bastard male.”

“Your Grace—“

“If an alliance is made without careful consideration, the balance of the realm could be compromised” he paused and clenched his jaw for a brief moment. “Especially when it comes to the elder legitimate female.”

“Your Grace” she politely cleared her throat. “Am I to understand that it is _my_ marriage that most concerns you?”

“Yes, Lady Stark.”

“I see” she glanced to her papers and she noticed the smug smile spreading across Ser Axell’s twisted lips. 

“Should the bastard Jon Snow be legitimized as the Stark heir, my concerns would be lesser, but as it sits you are the Wardeness of the North. From your womb would come the next Warden--or Wardeness of the North” he continued. “And if a Lord, Lord Lannister of Casterly Rock for example, sought to challenge my rule then doing so as your husband would give him strong legs to stand on.”

“And you think I would succumb to Lord Lannister’s charms? Let him lead me around by my nose?” she asked. 

“Lady Stark, I do not believe that there is a man in the Seven Kingdoms capable of running roughshod over you” Stannis’ eyes were dark as he spoke the words, the closest thing to a compliment that she ever expected to receive from the Stag King. 

“Not even you, Your Grace?” she smirked and Stannis raised a single brow. 

“I would gladly try, Lady Stark.”

“Perhaps a bargain then?” Sansa suggested, setting her quill on the wooden tabletop. 

“I am all ears.”

“When the time comes for myself to wed, you and I will discuss the situation in-depth, as equals. We will come to an agreement and accord, which would be mutually beneficial to the crown and the North.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“And in-turn, my sister, Lady Arya Stark, will be permitted to wed a man of her choice or to remain unwed entirely should she choose” she suggested, watching him weigh the options she had provided. 

“Am I to understand that you would offer yourself, your happiness to spare hers?” He asked. 

“Yes.”

“I accept.”

“Your Grace—-!” Ser Axell protested but Stannis fixed him with a glare that had him freezing in his tracks, dropping back into his chair with an unceremonious ‘oomph’.

“Shall we move on to the next?” Sansa smiled, scribbling a few notes on her pages. She would sacrifice herself every day to save her sister, but she was fairly confident that when the time came she would be able to persuade the King to her side of things. 

It wasn’t like she would even consider Lord Tywin Lannister, regardless.

Stannis watched Sansa as she walked with Lady Marya, her posture and demeanor entirely relaxed now as she shared a pleasant conversation with Davos’ wife. 

They’d spent the entire morning, and most of the afternoon, in heated arguments, debating and discussing every point and term until Ser Axell had nearly turned purple and Davos was doing his best to conceal his amusement. They had parted company just an hour ago and already he found himself watching her from the veranda. 

She was talking animatedly, hands waving as she relayed some humorous story that had Lady Marya laughing boisterously. There was no hint of snobbery or hidden disdain in Sansa’s behavior for the woman who had been born the daughter of a fishmonger and had been elevated to ‘Lady’ only a year or so ago, they seemed to be genuinely enjoying each other’s company. 

His initial assessment that Lady Sansa was intelligent was a massive understatement. She was bright, fiery and her political mind was singular, the likes of which he’d never encountered before. She held not an ounce of fear of him, nor was she intimidated by him as most seemed to be.

She was a temptation that he’d never experienced, beauty and substance that cut through every defense that he’d built over the years. He found himself, on several occasions, willing to concede to her terms if only to see that little smile of victory on her full lips. It was only through sheer force of will that he kept the needs of the realm on the forefront of his mind. 

Lady Marya’s laughter rose and he refocused on the pair to see Davos’ wife bent over, holding her sides as she laughed. Lady Sansa, however, was watching him. Her expression was not entirely discernible at this distance, but the flush on her cheeks and amusement on her full lips made his heart stutter and stomach sink. 

He’d been caught. 

While Lady Marya laughed, Sansa gave a small bow—a sardonic action to let him know that she’d caught his intent observation. 

Stannis locked his jaw and rose to his full height, tipping his head in reply. Their unspoken conversation followed him as he turned away and forced himself to walk back into the Small Council chambers. 

“You expect---” 

“I expect full control over trade agreements and negotiations” Sansa interjected. “We have many valuable resources that the Southron realms do not and we would like to maintain autonomy over them”

“That is absurd” Stannis shook his head and Sansa wanted to roll her eyes--fortunately she resisted the gesture. 

“Is it? We are a proud people, Your Grace, people who have been continually used and sent to die--most recently for your throne I might add, and we would like to keep the right to renegotiate rates at any given time” she reasoned. 

“No” he said simply. 

“No?” she laughed, pushing the papers away from her position opposite Stannis at the Small Council table. “We’re done here--” 

“Every two years” he suggested as she made to stand up. This was their third round of arguments now—likely their last, and both of them were on edge, more than ready to be done with this madness. Ser Axell hasn’t even bothered to show today, clearly having had his fill of Sansa and the King’s bullheadedness. 

“Every six moons” she countered without pause. 

“Every eighteen moons.” 

“Every year.” 

“Done” Stannis agreed and she pulled her papers closer to make several notes, hiding her smug smile since she had, once again, gotten exactly what she wanted. “I am beginning to get the feeling that you’re playing me, Lady Stark” Stannis’ voice pulled her from her notes and she looked up to meet the King’s assessing gaze. 

“Me?” she feigned innocence. “Of course not, Your Grace. _Never._ ” 

“Formidable” he said simply, his mouth twitching in challenge. She had learned enough about Stannis by now to know that that twitch, that minor spasm of muscle, was his smile. At the very least, the King was amused by her and she found that rather charming. 

She had been in the capitol nearly a fortnight now, spending the time that she wasn’t in conference with the King and his council with Lady Marya and the boys. She appreciated Marya’s genuine and kind personality, and the boys were adorable, she truly enjoyed their company. 

It was a vastly different experience than her last visit to King’s Landing and she was grateful for that. She already had enough nightmares remembering her formative years here, at least these pleasant memories would help overshadow those previous ones. 

“Your Grace?” Davos interrupted, appearing at the entrance to the Small Council chambers. 

“Yes?” 

“If I may steal you for a moment?” Davos cleared his throat and glanced at her pointedly. 

“I will step onto the balcony” she stood gracefully and picked up her cup of water, leaving the two men to their private discussion. 

She took a deep breath of the fresh air, letting the smell of flowers permeate her nostrils. Like the private dining room, this balcony also had plants and flowers strewn about, chasing away the hot stench of the city proper. Were she sentimental, she would think that Stannis had instructed there to be fragrant blooms wherever he was.

She had almost forgotten how hot the city was and she was grateful that she had thought to pack several thinner gowns in her trunk. Gone was the thick black material she wore in the North and in its place was a soft dove grey gown with long loose sleeves and a crossbody tie that held it in place. She had braided her hair in an attempt to tame the curls that were beyond reason in the humid regions, and it hung over her shoulder to her waist with a dragonfly barrette at the bottom. 

The barrette had been the last gift her Father had ever given her, the last little piece of him she had. She would never part from it.

“Lady Sansa” the King’s voice sounded as he moved to stand beside her. 

“We find ourselves, yet again, on a balcony together” she chuckled, drinking deeply from her lemon water. 

“Indeed.” 

“How romantic” she smirked, laughing at her own joke. 

Stannis scoffed, shaking his head, “I know little of romance, Lady Stark.” 

“No?” she raised a brow. “Perhaps observing a woman from the balcony is not considered ‘romantic’ in Storm’s End.” 

She felt the King shift on his feet beside her and saw the rush of color in his cheeks. She knew he had been watching her with Lady Marya, but she didn’t know to what end. He could merely be trying to discern her character, or it could be something more...Not likely, she mentally shook herself. King Stannis was no more affected by her than he would be a slab of marble. 

“A King must always observe those around him” Stannis cleared his throat. “He has not friends, but subjects and enemies.” 

“And which am I?” she asked. 

“I dare to hope ‘friend’, Lady Stark” he replied with a dip of his head. “Yet still, romance is not my strong suit, it never has been.” 

“Well” she turned to face him. “To start do not call a woman by her title, not when you’re romancing her.” 

“Then what should I call her?” 

“Whatever you like; ‘my darling’, ‘my love’, call her by her name if you must, but never reduce her to a title.” 

“Titles are important, they’re---” 

“They’re useless bits of wind” she cut his train of thought off with a shake of her head. “At the end of the day, all we have is our core being. Titles, rank, all of it is words that mean nothing. It is what we do and how we act that defines us. Not our titles or ranks.” 

“And who are you, Sansa of House Stark, at the core?” he met her eyes head-on, unflinching at the unexpectedly deep question. 

“Me?” she looked over the city, setting her cup on the balustrade before she turned back to him. “I am a little girl whose lust for titles killed nearly her entire family. I am a daughter who sees her Father’s head falling down marble steps everytime she closes her eyes. I am a woman who knows that to the world, I am nothing more than a womb and a title, Stannis of House Baratheon. I am an albatross, one who will likely never be loved for more than her name or the children she can give some simpering _Lord_ along the way. I almost envy the women of the Street of Silk, almost envy the lowborn who can allow themselves the luxury of love” she trailed off, her voice barely a whisper. After a few seconds, she cleared her throat. “And you? Who are you?” 

He watched her for several moments before he took a deep breath and stepped slightly closer, “I am a man who wanted nothing more than to live his life in peace at Storm’s End. I am bound by duty to live a life that I have no desire for and, as such, I am stuck on the rails of politics. I want nothing more than to go _home_ but I am trapped here in a city I despise waiting for the council to choose yet another woman who must tolerate my ‘romantic’ attentions.” 

“Going home isn’t always what it is cracked up to be,” she said softly. 

“No?”

“Sometimes you go home and you’re reminded of everything you have lost. Surrounded by ghosts and memories that fade with time” she turned away. 

“So instead we have to face the present and try to recover? To move forward and only forward, looking back only to remind ourselves of what has shaped our present?” 

“It’s all we can do” she faced him once more. “What hope is there for us, Stannis?” she boldly addressed him so informally. “Are we so unlovable that we are reduced to nothing more than our titles and our sex?” 

“I have never considered myself lovable or warm” he admitted. “My brothers insisted that I was born full grown and with a vendetta against the world.” 

“And yet they are gone and you are here” Sansa countered. 

“My survival doesn’t necessarily mean that I am capable of love, Lady--” he reasoned. 

“You are” she replied and his brows raised in surprise. “I have seen you with the Seaworth Boys, the way you listen to them. The world is full of men; angry men, cruel men, violent men, apathetic men but the rarest of them all is a man who cares--truly cares. A man who would listen to a little boy’s story of soldiers.” 

“You are quite bold, accusing ‘Stannis Baratheon’ of having a heart” he scoffed, turning away. 

Sansa reached out on impulse before she could stop herself, her hand closing around his forearm as he turned away. Her fingers hesitated only briefly before holding him firmly, turning him back to her, “Your Grace---” 

“We’re beyond formalities, are we not?” he challenged. 

“Stannis---” 

“Your Grace” Davos’ voice once again sounded from the Small Council chambers and Sansa released Stannis’ arm. 

“Excuse me” she gave a brief curtsey and strode away, not pausing her stride until she was safely tucked back into her rooms. She walked quickly through the corridors, Sandor at her back as he escorted her to her rooms. Like he had so many times in the past, only this time the emotions racing through her weren’t fear and terror, but something far more disconcerting. Far more real.

She shouldn’t have touched him, that was a monstrous mistake. Giving into the desire to assure him that he wasn’t as cold and heartless as the world believed him to be. She left Sandor at the door to her chambers and closed it, barring it after a brief pause.

“Stupid” she chastized herself, pacing to the windows on the opposite side of the room. “Stupid!” 

She had come here to negotiate a modicum of independence for the North, not to become infatuated with the King like a childish, simpering ninny. It wasn’t fair, she thought idly as she sank to the window seat and allowed her head to rest against the stained glass window. It wasn’t fair that she felt this way--why now? Why him? 

Because...she closed her eyes to ward off a wave of tears, she clearly hadn’t learned her lesson the last time she was in this city. 

No. Stannis wasn’t his brother. He wasn’t his ‘nephew’. He was….

Gods, what was he? A knight from a story, all honor and duty? A ghost from a girlhood dream sent to haunt her? 

It wasn’t fair. 

Today they had completed the last of their negotiations and all that was left was for her to formally bend the knee and accept him as her King. Then she would be return back to the North, back to Winterfell where cold duty and an even colder marriage awaited her. A marriage that she didn’t want--couldn’t want. 

Not when Stannis was here. 

She choked on a sob and quickly covered her mouth to smother the sound of grief, not wanting to alert Sandor to her inner-torment. She closed her eyes tightly and took several deep breaths through her nose to settle herself. When that didn’t help, she picked up the embroidered pillow from the cushion beside her and buried her face in the material.

She hadn’t lied when she told Stannis that she envied the lowborn who could love and be loved. She used to think that being a lady of noble birth was the greatest thing that could ever happen to her, but as she grew older she began to realize that being born a lady of noble birth had taken away every decision she could make. Her path was set out before her, and all she could do was survive. 

She was just as trapped as she had always been. A prisoner in her own life. She shook the thoughts--the memories of her actions away and closed her eyes, doing her best to release her frustrations into oblivion and breath through the pain coursing through her chest. 

“Your Grace?” Davos interrupted Stannis’ thoughts later that night as he stood alone on the balcony of the private dining room. Sansa had declined to join them, claiming that she had a migrim, but Stannis knew the truth of it--she was avoiding him. 

There was something bubbling beneath the surface between them, something that had bloomed into life and twisted its way into his gut, anchoring them together in a way that he hoped--that he feared was permanent. 

Like days previous, they’d spent the day in negotiations once again, a hair’s breadth from arguing and by the time the afternoon had arrived he had realized that he was enjoying her company. Sansa Stark was a woman far more captivating than he ever could have imagined. She was intelligent, yes, but she was also passionate and beyond a doubt one of the most stubborn women he had ever known. 

“You’re well?” Davos asked and Stannis looked to his most trusted friend. 

“I am” he nodded. 

“You look...” Davos paused, weighing his words. “Out of sorts.” 

“I am well,” Stannis assured him. “I am simply thinking.” 

“You wouldn’t happen to be thinking about what I interrupted earlier?” Davos asked. “With Lady Stark?” 

“There was nothing--” 

“Your Grace” Davos shook his head. “I have known you for over half of my life, stuck by you through all things, war and peace. I should like to think that I know you at least a little bit.” 

Stannis took a deep breath, exhaling on a long sigh before letting his guard down, “Lady Stark accused me of having a heart---” 

“How dare she!” Davos mocked, the only man in the realm who would ever do so.

“What I mean is,” Stannis ground his teeth. “She….damn--” 

“You are a caring man, Your Grace. In possession of an honorable heart,” Davos assured him as his own words failed him. “You care for your people, even if you care little for your duty, and you care for my sons. They are nothing more than lowborn sons of a fisherman and a seamstress, but you have elevated them to nobility and treat them as such.” 

“You earned your title in the rebellion, you were only given what you had earned” Stannis explained away. 

“Not all would see it as such” Davos said simply. “I know what I am. Flea Bottom born and raised as a smuggler, I am nothing more than a common criminal to most. But to you, I was more-- I was able to become more.” 

“And Lady Stark?” Stannis prompted. “Does she see you as less than what you’ve become?” he already knew the answer through his own observations, but asked anyway.

“No” Davos admitted. “She treats Marya as a Lady would another Lady, treats myself and my sons with the same respect--- Your Grace, speak plainly. What is troubling you?” 

“Nothing” Stannis sighed, regaining his full height before cleared his throat. “I bid you good evening, Davos” he nodded to his friend--his Lord Hand, and strode from the room, not stopping until he was safely locked into his chambers for the evening. 

He worked the ties on his doublet and crossed to the window only to freeze when he saw a lone figure walking through the King’s Courtyard below. His hands fell to his sides, lowering as he watched the person amble through the trees and flowers. His eyes narrowed in suspicion until the figure passed through torchlight and familiar fiery tresses were illuminated. 

“Damned foolish woman!” he stormed from his room once more, grabbing Lightbringer as he exited. The door slammed against the stone wall and the guards jumped in surprise, but he paid them no mind as he closed the distance to the courtyard. Buckling his sword around his waist, he barged into the garden, his long legs eating up the distance with ease. 

He found her easily, as she had remained in the torchlight, soaking in its warmth. In the firelight, she looked like a Goddess, a temptress sent to pull his sanity over the breaking point. 

As he neared her, he noticed that she wore only a thick woolen robe, her hair free of her braid and hanging loose passed her hips. She was mad, that was all there was too it, completely mad! 

“Lady Stark!” he growled and she whirled to face him, staring up at him as he grabbed her shoulders. 

“Your Grace---” she gasped. 

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing? Out here alone in the middle of the night?!” he all but yelled down at her. 

“She’s not alone, Your Grace” the deep, angry voice of The Hound sounded from the shadows and the large man stepped forward, into the light. “You think I am that big of a buggering cunt that I would let her endanger herself?” there was a warning, a threat in the man’s words and it set Stannis’ teeth on edge.

“Ser Clegane” Sansa whispered, never taking her eyes from his. 

“My Lady?” The Hound replied. 

“Please leave us. His Grace will see me to my rooms” she instructed and Stannis watched the play of emotions across the man’s scarred face. Sansa had told her sworn shield, in not so many words, that she trusted him inherently. Trusted his honor.

“My Lady---” 

“I will not repeat myself, you’re dismissed” she stated and The Hound heaved a sigh, his shoulders sagging.

“Good evening” he bid them farewell, turning back into the shadows, his heavy footsteps carrying him away. 

“Lady Stark---” 

“No” she interrupted. “Such informal attire and such a familiar touch begs you call me ‘Sansa’, does it not?” 

He loosened his hold on her shoulders but did not release her, leaning back slightly, “Sansa…” 

“You thought me walking alone in the gardens” she mused, a small smile fluttering across her lips. “Did you seek to rescue me or lecture me?” 

“I---” he broke off with a growl. “I sought to shake you until you bloody saw reason! Saw sense!” 

“Stannis--” 

“You should never endanger yourself like this” he argued, his thumbs stroking against her collarbones for a brief moment before he caught himself and stilled them. 

“But I wasn’t in danger, Sandor was only a few feet away” she countered. 

“Some guard he is, I was able to approach!” 

“You’re the King” Sansa said softly. “To stop you would be treason.” 

“As if he is a man unfamiliar with treason” he spat. 

“What bothers you more, Stannis? That I am in my robe or that I am in your courtyard?” 

“Neither!” he said, grabbing her shoulders once more. “What bothers me is that you so readily put yourself in harm’s way!” 

“No one would harm me” she assured him. “Not with Sandor here---” 

“I could have harmed you” he slid his hands to either side of her chin, cupping the delicate flesh and forcing her to hold his eyes. “I could have wrung the very life from your form without a second’s pause.” 

“The King will do as he wishes” she said, not an ounce of fear in her eyes. He would dare say that she had experienced worse at the hands of ‘kings’. 

“But that’s just it, isn’t it” he stared down at her, never looking away from her bright blue eyes, eyes reflecting the torch light around them. “I am not your King--not truly.”

“Stannis--” 

“I have met every term, every point, and yet I am still just another man--another obstacle for you to overcome in your _duty_ to the North” he whispered, his own mind beyond his control. The darkness around them created the illusion that they were in their own little world--this could very well be a dream, a conjuring of his own mind. Nothing else around them existed, in this moment they were the only two beings in the world and still she was unaffected. 

“If you believe yourself a mere obstacle, then you’re just as mad as your predecessors and supposed nephew” she said plainly and he moved his thumbs to her chin, stepping closer to loom over her. 

“You--!” 

“Me” she raised a brow in challenge. 

Several moments passed, the world around them moving forward but time stood still between them. The torch continued to burn, casting them in a haunting light against the blackness. He could feel her pulse racing against his hand, feel her breathing--a steady in and out, as she watched him with bright eyes. 

He knew that he must look a mess, his own doublet half-laced, the bare flesh of his chest showing through his gaping undershirt, but he couldn’t muster the energy to care. He had thought her to be in danger and he had acted without thinking. Without consideration...

Infuriating, insufferable, stubborn and obstinate woman that she was, could have been in danger and….that could _not_ be born. 

He watched in rapt fascination as her tongue--that damnable rosy pink tongue of hers darted out to dampen her lower lip. He’d watched that tongue on so many occasions as she was lost in thought, as she listened to an argument, as she tasted the dessert lingering on her lips, and each time it chipped at his resolve until he had been reduced to this madness. This creature made of feelings alone that would crumble at the slightest warmth from her. 

He couldn’t stop it, not for all of the gold in Lannisport, not for all of the lemons in Dorne, he could not have stopped his own lips from closing the distance and settling against hers. Her lips were impossibly warm and lush, her gasp of surprise momentary and then her silken skin was moving against his own, returning his kiss with every inch of fervor he was pouring into it. 

Her hands, previously hanging at her sides, rose to grab the parted fabric of his doublet, fisting into the material to haul him closer. In the torchlight of the courtyard, their bodies pressed together, a gesture more intimate than any had experienced in his life, more meaningful as well. He felt every curve, every dip of her body as it pressed to his own and he gave into the urge to haul her closer. 

Releasing her chin, his arms banded around her back and waist, molding her to his form as he parted her lips and delved into the warm cavern of her mouth. She tasted of caramel and lemons, the heady combination sinking into his heated blood to the point that he was no longer capable of thought. 

He swallowed her whimper, the sensation of her tongue dancing against his own nearly unmanning him. It wasn’t until the warmth of her hand slid into his undershirt that he pulled back, swallowing his own gasp of surprise. A quick glance showed that Sansa’s slender hand had settled over his heart, skin-to-skin for the first time, sharing each others’ warmth in their dream-like world. 

Her lips were swollen, her porcelain flesh chaffed from his evening beard but he felt no remorse, only a smug hyper-masculine pride that _he_ had done that. This time as her tongue darted out to her lower lip, he knew that she would taste him upon her flesh.

“Stannis” she whispered, her voice soft and gentle, barely audible over the blood racing through his system. 

“Am I so unlovable” he whispered, holding her tightly, not relinquishing an inch. “Am I nothing but a title---” 

“I told you once before that you are a man capable of love” her expression softened, her thumb absently smoothing over the flesh of his chest, tangling in the spongy dark hair across his torso. “A truly cold man doesn’t kiss a woman like this, doesn’t hold her as if the entire world would end if she were not in his arms.” 

“I would be inclined to believe that it would” he admitted, whispering to her.

“What am I to you, Stannis?” she asked plainly. “You’re the King--” 

“But not your King” he corrected. 

“Is that what you seek? For me to bend the knee and declare you my King?” her eyes searched his own. 

He swallowed thickly, “No” he said, shaking his head curtly. “I…” 

“Tell me” she pleaded. 

“I would be something far more dear to you, should you be willing to give me the chance. Be willing to negotiate such a bargain with me.” 

“What would that be?” 

“Your husband” he answered, feeling her small gasp of surprise against the wall of his chest. 

“To claim the North?” 

“To claim you. You and only you.” 

“A conquest then?” 

“No” he shook his head. “You are a woman every inch my compliment. Cold and aloof as I may be, with you I feel alive. I feel...powerful and more than just a hollow duty to a throne of iron. Where I am unfeeling, you are sympathetic, where I am strong, you are weak and where I am weak, you, Sansa of House Stark, are strong. A man without a woman is nothing but a hollow shell. A King without his Queen is a ruler without compassion or kindness. Me without you is merely a ghost of an existence.” 

“You speak as if you love me” she whispered, her eyes wide with awe and wonder, the firelight reflecting back at him through their glossy sheen. 

“I fear that I do not know what love is, not romantic love anyway. If love is aching to be in your presence, if love is fighting to hold back the unrelenting urge to touch you-- to hold you, if love is wondering how my life--my very existence has changed so much since your arrival, then yes, Sansa, I do love you” he told her and he felt her weight sag against him, her hand not on his chest coming to the back of his neck, her fingers carding into his short hair, toying with the collar of his doublet. “If that is what love is, then I love you without restraint or hesitation. I would worship you at any altar of your choosing and I would do everything in my power to earn your love in return.” 

“Stannis” she whimpered. 

“What am I to do? Tell me what am I to do when you return to the North? You will ride away--you would gut me and take the very core of me with you. You would only return to negotiate your marriage to another man, and that cannot be born---what am I to do?” he pleaded. 

“Ask me to stay,” she said softly. “You could ask me to stay at your side. You could promise to love me, as I would love you, until the end of our days.” 

His heart clenched and stuttered at her words, “Sansa…” 

“You could promise that you would protect me” she continued, her eyes growing sadder, more forlorn. “Promise that my people would be safe. You could promise me that you would give me children and that they would never know fear or pain---you could promise me that, Stannis” she finished, her voice teetering on pleading as tears filled her eyes. 

“I promise all that and more” he pulled her tighter, higher against his chest. “I promise that you will never know fear--not again. You would be safe, always. I promise you Sansa, the very hounds of Hell could tear down the walls of this infernal place, but I would keep you safe. Our family would be safe.”

She choked on a sob, looking up at him with such trust that it tore at his own resolve. Tears escaped her eyes, trailing down porcelain cheeks and she closed her eyes briefly before looking back up at him. 

“I gave up hope for a man with a heart--a true heart, to find me a long time ago” she said. “And yet here you are, in the place that I least expected” her eyes darted to the Red Keep before locking back on him. 

“I never had hope” he admitted. “Never dared to hope. But I do now, Sansa, and if you do not consent to marry me, I fear that I will simply lose my mind altogether.” 

“Then how could I ever refuse?” she smiled, the hand on the back of his neck pulling him closer and back into their kiss. Stannis sank into her embrace and allowed her to guide him, his arms holding her tightly as her lips parted and their tongues met once more. 

As scheduled, every sennight Stannis would sit on the Iron Throne in the Great Hall and hear grievances from local magistrates or members of the guard, and would pass his decision down to those who sought his advice. It was boring, the echoing silence in the hall seemingly filled with Robert’s mocking laughter and he found it tedious. Today, however, he was glad of it since he had not gotten to bed until very late--or very early this morning. 

He had savoured every moment he could with Sansa, holding her tightly in the courtyard as they shared a variety of kisses, nearly all of which he had never experienced before. He escorted her to her chambers, grateful that The Hound was nowhere in sight which allowed him to place a lingering kiss on her lips before he made way to his own chambers. 

When he had at last laid his head upon the pillow, he had passed into slumber with thoughts of Sansa--his Sansa, dancing through his head. 

“The final inquiry of the day, Your Grace,” Davos looked to the end of the aisle and the next visitor to the Iron Throne. It wasn’t, however, a fishmonger who felt he had been cheated or anything as tedious as a lower Lord who felt slighted. 

Instead he looked up to see Sansa standing proud at the end of the golden carpet. She wore a Northern gown of deep grey, a direwolf emblazoned across her abdomen that told the entirety of court that she was Lady Sansa of House Stark, Wardeness of the North and she would not be trifled with. 

“Lady Stark” he greeted her formally, as court would require.

“Your Grace” she curtsied as she reached the steps of the throne’s dias. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company in court today?” 

“I have come before the court and His Grace King Stannis Baratheon” she lowered her hands from her waist to her skirts, holding the material gently out of the way as she lowered herself to one knee before him. “To swear House Stark, and the entirety of it’s bannermen of the North, to King Stannis of House Baratheon and the Iron Throne” she bowed her head in reverence, her fiery hair falling over her shoulders. “Long live the King. May he reign forever.” 

A small gasp and hush of whispers raced across the assembly and Stannis stood, aware that all were watching as he descended the steps. The heavy weight of his golden crown of antlers kept him holding his head high, but his eyes could not be torn from Sansa’s kneeling form. 

She had chosen the most public theatre possible for her vows, and his heart clenched at the powerful vision she created. Reaching the main floor, he loomed over her form for a moment before be crouched before her. Another wave of gasps echoed in the Great Hall as she raised her eyes to meet his and he offered her his hands. 

“I accept your vow and offer you one of my own” he said softly. Sansa placed her delicate hands in his and he wrapped his thumbs over the top of them. “I promise that your people in the North will always be safe. I promise that you will be safe, that I will protect you” he swore in front of everyone. “And I promise, my Queen, that I will do all in my power to ensure your happiness” he stood, guiding her back to her full height, never releasing her hands. 

“Your Grace” she smiled up at him. “My King.” 

“My Queen” he looped her hand over his arm and looked to Davos. “I am finished here today, Lord Hand. The duties of the realm can wait until the morrow” he said and Davos nodded in reply.

Stannis escorted Sansa away from the dark shadow of the Iron Throne, gossip rising like a tide behind them as he guided her to the King’s passageway towards the courtyard. Sansa walked smoothly beside him, every inch the Northern beauty--every inch his beauty. 

“Sansa” he paused in the doorway to the courtyard, the sun shining across the flora beyond them. 

“Stannis” she smiled, taking his hands in hers. 

“I would like to announce our engagement tomorrow” he said softly, stroking his thumbs across her knuckles. 

“Alright” she agreed with a smile. 

“And I would take you as my wife at the next full moon” he continued. 

“Stannis” she laughed softly. “That is in less than a sennight’s time.”

“Is that not agreeable?” 

“They will believe you have married me to cover an affair” she teased. 

“Let them believe whatever they like” he scoffed. “I will take you as my wife and from that day forward, I will not be parted from you.” 

“Is that a command, Your Grace?” 

“Absolutely” he assured her and she stepped closer. 

“You know I will have to travel to the North at some point” she said. “To speak with Jon and ensure that Arya is capable of handling things at Winterfell, to relay our agreements and let the bannermen know their duties.” 

“Then I will travel with you” he offered. 

“The last time a King came to Winterfell, things did not end well” she frowned and he released one of her hands to tilt her chin up, meeting her eyes. 

“I am not Robert and you are not Ned” he assured her. 

“No” she gave a small smile, tilting her cheek into his palm. “You are King Stannis Baratheon and I am Lady Sansa Stark---” 

“No” he countered. “You are Sansa and I am Stannis. We are a man and a woman in love, and together we bear the burden of duty--this heavy mantle of royalty, and together we will survive it.” 

“Together” she agreed. 

“Together.” 

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days” Sansa watched Stannis as he repeated the words, claiming her as his until the end of his days. 

“With this kiss, I pledge my love," Stannis leaned in, kissing her softly as the entirety of Court watched them. “I love you” he whispered at the end of their kiss and she smiled. 

“As I love you” she replied, stepping closer to his side and linking their arms. Together they faced the assembly for the first time as husband and wife--no, as King and Queen. 

It was fortunate that Arya was not a sentimental sibling, as Stannis had held true to his decision to marry her at the next full moon. The notice was so short that Sansa had barely had time to embroider a Maiden’s cloak and the first time she saw her wedding gown, a soft grey dress with a direwolf and stag embroidered in silver along the train, had been this morning. She had nearly cried, it was so perfect. 

Arya’s reply to Sansa’s news reached her this morning, the raven bringing a sloppily written scroll that Sandor had delivered as she prepared for the first ceremony. After her brief words of congratulations, Arya requested that Sandor be returned to Winterfell permanently, as she would need his help if she were to ‘try to be a lady and what not’, her words. 

It was decided that they would all travel North in a moon’s time for a brief visit, smoothing any ruffled feathers and giving the Northern bannermen a chance to meet Stannis and understand that he meant no slight in taking her to wife so quickly. There were likely a few who were upset, having hoped that Sansa would wed a Glover or Manderly, to strengthen the North, but they could hardly argue with Northern ‘royalty’ on the Iron Throne.

They would also discuss Jon’s possible legitimization and Arya’s control of Winterfell, ensuring that her family would be able to handle the North without Sansa there. She was already certain they would be just fine without her, and she would continue her work in King’s Landing as an ambassador to the North after their return. 

According to Davos, rumors were already swirling about their quick marriage, but Sansa laughed them off, paying them no mind. Everything from seduction to pregnancy seemed to be fluttering about, and if she were to be truthful, she found her heart would stutter at the idea of carrying a child, Stannis’ child. It was possible that it would happen soon, very likely given her Mother’s Tully fertility, and she couldn’t wait. 

Stannis placed his hand over hers as he escorted her back down the Sept’s aisle and she allowed herself to lean into his side as they moved together. Exiting the Great Sept of Baelor, they paused midway down the marble and stone steps, overwhelmed by the outturn of people who were there to catch a glimpse of them. 

Sansa briefly rested her head against Stannis’ shoulder, smiling when she felt him press his lips to her hair in a stolen kiss. A golden crown now sat atop her hair, the detail more stunning than anything she had seen before. It was comprised of a unique tangle of stag’s antlers, all entwined with the flames of Stannis’ own sigil, it was perfect. 

“It is my great honor to introduce you to Her Grace, Queen Sansa Stark” Stannis addressed the gathered crowd, his voice strong and confident. “Long live the Queen.” 

“Long live the Queen!” the crowd began to chant, their cries reaching crescendo as they walked down the steps and Stannis helped her into the awaiting carriage. Sansa turned as she stepped up, waving at those around them and offering her best smile, doing all she could to leave them with a first impression to remember. 

Safely ensconced in the carriage that was carrying them back to the Keep and the awaiting feast, Sansa turned and looked into the dark eyes of her husband. 

“You’re my husband” she whispered softly, the words as sweet as honey on her lips. 

“I am” he replied, his voice low and rough, the tone skittering across her flesh and leaving goosebumps in its wake. He raised his hand to her face, trailing the backs of his fingers along the line of her jaw. She sighed and tilted her head to the side, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. “Such beauty” he whispered as the tip of a finger traced the shell of her ear, his large hands surprisingly featherlight against her skin. “Such fire” his fingers carded into her hair, which was hanging loose to her waist in the Northern style. His thumb stroked her cheek, “And somehow you are mine.” 

“I am” she whispered, leaning into his touch now, savouring the warmth of his skin. Rough and calloused as his hands may be, they were his, and she had been so long deprived of affection that she wanted to gorge herself on his touch.

She opened her eyes to look up at him and her heart ached at the affection in his eyes. It was written on every feature of his normally impassive face, was etched into his very being, his love for her. The eyes she had thought cold upon her arrival in King’s Landing, were now soft with emotion, the clench of his jaw relaxed. 

Leaning closer she tilted her face to his and he met her lips, kissing her with soft reverence. She raised her hand to rest over his heart and the flaming stag embroidered on his doublet, and Stannis raised his second hand to cover hers, holding it in place as he parted her lips with a gentle tongue. 

From the moment the dam on their affection had broken, they had begun to steal moments of privacy throughout their day. Stannis, though he would say otherwise, was a sensual and affectionate man. He kissed her in ways that had her body melting in pleasure, he allowed his touch to linger her on hands, waist or face whenever he could, and she knew that the moment they were alone tonight, her body would willingly be his to command in all ways. 

They shared kisses until the carriage slowed to a stop at the steps of the Red Keep. Stannis reluctantly pulled back, his eyes drinking in every detail of this moment. His bride’s swollen lips, the flush of her cheeks and the way her hair and crown seemed to glow in the late afternoon sun.

“My wife. My Queen...You’re stunning” he whispered and she smiled. 

“Do you think they would notice if we simply skipped the feast?” she asked, nibbling her lower lip. Stannis couldn’t help but smile at her words, it seemed his wife was as eager as he was to be alone with her and he was grateful that her maidenly shyness hadn’t stopped her from speaking of it. 

“Unfortunately they would notice” he assured her. “But the moment we’re able, we can slip away and attend to more ‘pleasurable’ duties.” 

The door to the carriage opened and the King's guard stood vigil as he stepped free and turned back to help Sansa to the stones. He looped her arm over his and escorted her up the steps, preceding the long list of Lords and Ladies that were to attend the wedding feast. 

They did their duty, they bore the attention of the feast’s attendees, all of it only barely tolerable because Sansa was at his side. She sat proudly beside him, her hand rarely leaving his as they spoke with their guests. Davos was on his left, his oldest friend happily supporting Stannis’ decision to marry Sansa, praising his impulsiveness and congratulating him on finally finding a worthy woman to cherish.

When the guests slipped from joyous celebration into slight intoxication, Stannis leaned to his wife and whispered in her ear, “Shall we?” he asked and she nodded in reply. Together they stood and he addressed the room. “We invite you to continue your celebrations, however, you must do so without us.” 

“A bedding!” someone in the back yelled and Stannis shook his head, feeling Sansa stiffen beside him. 

“I will not permit anyone to touch my wife, those who would dare will face immediate consequences” he said firmly. “Eat and drink your fill, I bid you all good evening.” He glanced to Davos, who gave a nod of assurance that they would not be followed, and he led Sansa from the room. Once they were in the hall, he took his hand from her arm and placed it in his own, twining their fingers together as they walked. 

When they arrived at his room--now their rooms, he closed and barred the door, locking them away from the world for as long as they saw fit. By the time he turned back, Sansa had unbuckled her wedding cloak and was laying the black and gold fabric across the divan near the balcony. 

She moved then to the table where a tray of food and drinks had been laid out, pouring them each a glass of wine.

“A toast” she smiled, handing him a glass. They had not imbibed at the feast, both of them wanting to have control of the faculties tonight, but he would certainly toast to their wedding. “To us” she said simply, raising her glass. 

“To us” he repeated and they tapped their glasses together before taking a small sip. Sansa watched him over the rim of her glass, her porcelain skin glowing in the candlelight. He had wanted her from the first moment he laid eyes on her, but he would have never dared to hope that Sansa Stark would be his. That such heated arguments would lead them here, to now.

He took a few sips and set his glass aside and Sansa did the same, setting her glass beside his and moving closer. Stannis watched intently as she raised her fingers to the metal clasps of her dress, deftly working them free. As the fabric of her gown gaped, more and more porcelain skin came into view and when she unwrapped the front of her dress to bare herself to him, he nearly growled aloud. She wore an ivory shift that was less than sheer, doing nothing to conceal the curls at the apex of her thighs and the press of her nipples against the fabric. 

“Husband” she allowed the gown to slide from her arms onto the carpet and stone floor. 

“You are perfection” he reached for the thin straps at her shoulders and loosed the ties so the shift fell to her feet in a silken puddle, leaving her completely nude save her crown. “Absolute perfection.” 

She closed the distance between them, pressing her unclad form against him as she put a hand at the nape of his neck and pulled his lips to hers. He held nothing back, kissing her deeply as his hands explored her bare flesh. Every inch of her was as smooth as silk and warm to the touch, the most tantalizing thing he’d ever experienced. 

Without breaking their kiss, and after a brief pause to knead the rounded curve of her buttocks, he lifted her with ease, guiding her legs around his waist to carry her to the turned down bed. Sansa wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding tightly to him as he lay her across the fresh sheets. 

He settled over her in the cradle of her thighs, uncaring that he was still fully clothed. He’d kept his lust, his desire for her under lock and key for weeks and there was nothing to hold him back now. He would devour his wife, taste every inch of her and revel in the fact that she ached for him in the same ways. 

“Stannis” she gasped as he moved away from her lips to suck at the flesh along her throat, neck and shoulder. He followed the curve of her collarbone to her sternum and followed it to the valley of her breasts, turning to admire the soft pink and rose color of her nipples. “Stannis!” she cried out as he pulled one jeweled peak into his mouth, rolling it between his lips, nipping gently at the tip. 

“My infuriating” he released her nipple with an audible ‘pop’. “Stubborn” he gave the other breast the same treatment and soon she was writhing beneath him. “Obstinate woman” he migrated to her stomach and kissed just below her belly button. 

Finally reaching her folds, he could see she was already glistening and soaked for him. His wife was a woman of passion, her desperation for him equal to his for her. 

“Stannis--please” she pleaded, her hands tunneling into his short silver and black--though more silver these days, hair and he pulled them free, holding them in his own as he lapped at her core. Her hands tightened around his, her cry filling the bedroom and he was certain that the guards beyond the door could hear her. He cared not, he drank in every whimper and sob of pleasure, they urged him on as he licked and sucked at her most intimate place. 

He was never a man to care for bawdy stories or tales of sexual exploits, and his sexual experiences were limited to say the least. However, once the idea of giving a ‘Lord’s Kiss’ to Sansa’s delicate virginal pussy had settled into his brain, he couldn’t chase it away. Now he knew why, she tasted divine and watching her enjoy the beginnings of their marriage bed had his cock harder than it had ever been before. 

Her hands twisted and tightened in his own as his tongue circled her nub and on a shuttering gasp, she broke, screaming his name as she pulsed against his mouth. He pulled back and watched her pant for air, admiring the rosy flush that had spread across her porcelain skin. 

In her movements, her crown had fallen from her hair and he moved it to the night table, placing it beside his own it as he stood to kick off his polished boots. 

“The Septa’s never warned me about _that_ ” she giggled as she propped herself on her elbows to watch him. 

“I daresay they wouldn’t” he agreed as he unlaced his doublet and tossed it aside.

Sansa watched as her husband efficiently removed his wedding clothes, all black and gold finery that he would only wear for such a special occasion. Normally he stuck to all black, she had noticed during their weeks together, and it suited him. 

Now, however, she was anxious for him to be free of his clothing so he could return to the bed. Her body was still thrumming from his attentions and she longed to have him back in her arms. In all the warnings and ‘education’ she had received on her marital duties, no one had ever mentioned the acute pleasure that a man’s mouth could bring if used in the right places. She hadn’t even realized his intention until he began and then she was lost to pleasure. 

Her folds were soaked, her skin flushed and she ached at her core, desperate for _something_ more. She felt like a siren, she felt beautiful and loved, all because of Stannis. Her Stannis.

He discarded his linen undershirt and she admired the lean muscle of his chest, a chest liberally coated with dark hair, as were his arms. 

“Enjoying the view?” Stannis’ deep voice broke into her admiration and she looked up at him, realizing she had been staring quite intently. 

“I am” she shifted on the bed. “But I am getting cold.” 

“Forgive the delay, My Queen” Stannis’ mouth twitched in that signature ‘almost smile’ of his as he shucked his breeches and smallclothes. The length of his cock sprang free, standing proudly from a nest of dark hair and she took in every detail of it. It didn’t look like she’d expected, the Septa’s spoke of men’s cocks as if they had fangs and claws, as if they would attack them in their slumber, but Stannis’ was thick and long, standing proudly before her. 

Her examination was broken when Stannis rejoined her on the bed, settling back into the ‘v’ of her thighs to kiss her softly. She could taste a tang on his lips and deduced that that must be what her sex tasted like. Heat coursed through her at the sinful realization that she was tasting herself upon her husband’s lips.

She jumped in surprise as Stannis’ fingers stroked her folds, strong fingers working slowly and deliberately as they exchanged kisses. His body was hard and warm atop hers, the springy hair across his chest brushing her breasts with each movement. Her hands had a mind of their own, roaming his sides, back and shoulders, pausing on the long raised scar across the back of his right shoulder, tracing its trail. 

“Sansa” Stannis shoved the blankets away and the fingers at her core moved to cup her thigh. “I need you.” 

“Then take me” she replied and he groaned softly, resting his forehead against hers. 

“I do not want to hurt you” he whispered the confession. 

“Then do it quickly, there is no way to prevent it and I need you just as much as you need me” she assured him. “You are my husband...please, make me your wife.” 

“Alright” he agreed, taking himself in hand and balancing on an elbow beside her shoulder. He stoked the length a few times, then traced her opening with the swollen head. When he bumped her nub she whimpered at how sensitive it was. He notched himself just inside of her and adjusted himself to tunnel his hands into her hair, cupping her head. “Hold onto my shoulders, bite my shoulder if you have to, and breathe” he instructed her and she nodded in understanding, wrapping her arms around him. 

“Stannis” she whimpered. “Please…” He groaned, shifting his hips and moving forward. She felt her body stretching to accommodate his, felt his cock sliding into her channel to meet her maidenhead. He paused just long enough to kiss her lips and then, with a snap of his hips, it was done. 

She twisted against the painful invasion, her fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders. It was too much--he was too big, she felt as if he had rended her in two. Stannis’ deep voice spoke against her ear, whispering soothing words, reminding her to breathe and relax, encouraging her though his own voice sounded tormented. Forcing her eyes open, she saw the barely restrained lust in her husband’s features, and it was the love in his deep blue gaze that helped her to breathe through the pain. 

He held still, deep within her, allowing her to grow used to the feeling of being utterly impaled, pinned to the feather mattress beneath him. She could feel every inch of his length, feel his pulse echoing through her and she loved it. They were one being, one soul and at last, one body. 

“Are you alright?” he asked softly and she nodded. “It will never hurt like this again, I promise you.” 

“I am well,” she assured him. “I am a woman wedded, a woman bedded. Nothing can part us now.” 

“Nothing” he promised, slowly rocking his hips. The sharp pain had faded to a dull ache, her body still growing used to the invasion. She didn’t focus on the pain, however, but watched Stannis’ face as he moved. Pleasure played out across his features, and the soft growls rumbling through his chest were the most masculine sound she’d heard in her life. 

Shifting slightly, she felt her legs looked awkward splayed upon the bed, so she lifted them to wrap around him, letting the heels of her feet dig into the flexing muscle of his buttocks. This changed the angle of her hips and she felt his cock smoothly gliding in and out of her core. Stannis’ answering groan assured her that she had made the right move. 

He took her lips in a near-violent kiss, his hips speeding of their own volition and the wet sound of their coupling filled the room. She melted into his kiss, holding him tightly with her arms and legs as the rest of the world around them ceased to exist. As with their first kisses in the courtyard, nothing else mattered than this moment. 

She held to him as the last of the pain faded and she felt the pleasurable burn thrumming through her. She whimpered against his lips and he growled in return, hips faltering for a brief moment before he slid deep enough to have her arching in discomfort. She felt his body tense and shudder, felt his cock pulsing and filling her with the warmth of his seed until it spilled from where they were joined. 

“Gods” Stannis growled against her mouth, a tremor passing over him as he came down from his peak. 

“Husband” she said softly, running her hands through his short hair. 

“Wife” he replied, his softening cock slipping from her body. She felt the wet rush of his seed spilling from her, the slick reminding her that she was truly his wife now. Truly his Queen. “Are you in pain?” 

“No” she smiled softly, leaning up to kiss the tip of his sharp nose. “I am quite well.” 

“Are you?” he smirked, rolling to lay on the bed at her side. 

“I am” she scooted closer, the sticky mess on her thighs giving her pause. 

“Here, allow me” Stannis slid away and grabbed a linen towel from the sideboard, dampening it, he gently cleaned the mess away before wiping himself and tossing it aside. He rejoined her in the bed, pulling her close before pulling the blankets over their cooling bodies. 

“I think” she smirked against the bare skin of his chest. “That I am going to like making love to you more than I like arguing with you.” 

“That is very fortunate” he chuckled, holding her tightly as he placed a kiss atop her head. “As I am of the same mind.” 

“Do you think it will take long?” she asked quietly after a few moments of silence. 

“Think what?”

“For a child” she clarified, looking up into his face. 

“I cannot rightly say” he said honestly. “But I do know that I will do everything in my power to make it happen.” 

“I know” she smiled, snuggling close. “I am just impatient, I suppose.” 

“If it takes a while, that is alright as well, I will enjoy having you to myself.” 

“Agreed” she relaxed against his shoulder, feeling the claws of exhaustion wrapping around her feet. She had hardly slept last night, having been too anxious for the events of today to rest, and now she was well-loved, warm and safe in her husband’s arms. It seemed the perfect place to lapse into slumber, savouring their first night as husband and wife.

**A Moon’s Turn Later**

“How did you do it?” Jon--the newly legitimized Lord Jon Stark, asked Sansa in the chaos of the welcoming feast at Winterfell. 

“Do what?” 

“That isn’t the King Stannis Baratheon I know” Jon looked to where Stannis was talking with Arya, Lightbringer in Arya’s hands as she admired the Valyrian steel blade. 

“He’s happy, I dare say” Sansa told her cousin, a boy she had hardly grown up with but had no relationship with until the Lannisters had torn their family apart. Jon Snow had been Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch for many years before circumstances brought him back to Winterfell and Arya’s side. She was grateful now that Lord Jon Stark was here, that he was home where family should be. 

“Happy” Jon smiled. “And you _Your Grace_ , are you happy?” 

“I am” she replied honestly. She had been married just over a moon’s turn now and every day seemed more wonderful that the previous one. Each day she woke beside Stannis, just as every night they fell asleep together, more often than not after they’d made love. She worked with the Small Council to maintain their connection and communication with the North, and in her free time she sat with Lady Marya to embroider or sew clothes for the boys who were growing so quickly Marya could hardly keep up. 

Her first batch of time spent in King’s Landing was lived in fear, but her life there now was peaceful and filled with happiness. Regardless of whether or not she was Queen, she was a well-loved wife, safe and protected, and a woman with true friends in the capitol city. 

“I admit, I was surprised at your announcement” Jon said, drinking from his ale. “I couldn’t picture you two together in my head. The Stannis Baratheon that I had met at The Wall was colder than the ice it was made of, and you” he shrugged. “You’ve always been the vibrant life of any party.” 

“Still waters run deep, cousin” she smiled. “I am very pleased with my choice of husband” she said as Stannis retook his seat beside her, his hand automatically finding hers. 

“I am glad to hear it,” Stannis smiled at her. “Your sister has a keen love of swords” he added. 

“She does, Jon indulges her terribly” Sansa replied and Jon feigned innocence. 

“Then Winterfell will be in good hands when I steal you away, back to the capitol” Stannis said. 

“It will be” Sansa agreed. She glanced around the crowded Great Hall, Northmen filling it to the brim, all in various states of sobriety. Still, mirth and celebration filled the air, letting Sansa know that Stannis’ diplomatic visit to the North was a great idea. Even Arya was sitting with Sandor and both seemed to be enjoying the evening. Upon hers and Stannis’ departure, Jon would assume the role of Warden of the North, which appeased Arya to no end, since she never wanted to be a ‘Lady’.

“What do you say to being kidnapped?” Stannis whispered against her ear. 

“When?” 

“Now.” 

“I find that agreeable” she smiled over her shoulder at him. 

“Agreeable” he raised a brow. 

“Tolerable.” 

“Tolerable” he scoffed. “Perhaps I throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here, I think the Freefolk would approve of that” he nodded to the loudest table in the room where Tormund was currently slurring his way through a story of glory and war. Did he just state that he had fucked a bear?

“Kings don’t behave so brashly” she whispered, though her brain rather liked the idea of being carried away by her husband. 

“As the King, I can behave however I like” he leaned closer, lowering his voice. “And you weren’t calling it ‘brash’ this morning as you screamed into the pillows to avoid your baby sister knowing how much you enjoy being taken by your King.” 

“I see” she set her goblet back on the table. “It’s this game then” she leaned across his lap to reach for a lemon cake on the platter beside his plate and as she did so, she ran her palm across his cock through his breeches, hiding her smile at the hiss that escaped his lips. 

She took a bite of the lemon cake, letting the tart flavor explode on her tongue and turned to her husband, licking a bit of sugar from her lower lip. She watched his eyes turn dark, nearly black as he watched her and she knew she had him. 

Stannis cleared his throat and carefully stood, offering his hand to her and she took another deliberate bite, “I am not finished yet, my King.” 

“Now” he urged her with a crook of his fingers and she made a show of exasperation as she set the half-eaten lemon cake on her plate. She smoothed her skirts as she stood, then placed her arm on his. He made no speech, left no parting words beyond ‘good evening’ and guided her away from the madness of the celebration.

“Stannis!” she gasped as he all but tossed her to the bed the moment they were in her chambers. He barred the door and climbed over her, kissing her roughly as he tugged at her skirts. She followed his lead with ease, working his sword belt free and letting Lightbringer fall to the feather mattress before she loosened the ties of the front flap on his breeches. 

He growled against her mouth the instant her hand closed around him, pulling his cock free and idly stroking it while he pushed her skirts to her waist. His fingers delved into her folds, surely finding that she was already soaked for him, not an uncommon occurrence in their marriage bed. She never would have predicted that she would be a lustful woman, nor that Stannis would be a lustful man, but together their passion burned hotter than any Pentoshi sun ever could. 

Using her grip on his cock to guide him, she positioned him at her channel and he slid home with ease. 

“Oh--Gods” she gasped, her back arching in pleasure. She loved the feeling of her husband deep within her, filling her without pause and claiming what was his.

“You drive me to madness” he gently bit her jaw as he began to roughly fuck her, the bed shaking with every movement. 

“Stannis” she cried out, holding to his neck and shoulder as he moved. It wasn’t the first time they’d joined before even getting out of their clothing, but there was something wild and uninhibited about the way he was fucking her on the bed in the Lord’s chambers in Winterfell while their bannermen celebrated below stairs. 

“I can hardly think for want of you” he balanced on one elbow over her, the other hand moving to her leg. He took the back of her knee and held her wide, his grunts with each downward thrust mingling with her cries and sobs, her body racing towards its peak at full speed. She could feel his hot breath on her neck, the gentle bite of his teeth and the soft touch of his tongue as he explored her jaw, every graze of his lips shooting straight through her. 

“Oh-----Stannis!” she screamed on a choked cry, but Stannis never relented, he kept pace, fucking into her again and again. When her climax crested, the air rushed from her body, the force of it sending a convulsion through her entire body even as her core erratically pulsed around her husband’s cock. 

Stannis followed a moment later, his grip on her thigh nearly painful as he growled and slid deep, filling her with his cum. He collapsed beside her, breathing heavily for several moments before he scooted back to softly kiss her, smoothing her hair from her face. 

“Were it not for the feast below, I am fairly certain that the whole of Winterfell would have heard your screams” Stannis said, a smug smile playing at his lips. 

“I cannot find it in me to care,” she laughed. “I am a woman well-loved, there is no shame in that.” 

“You are” he agreed, pulling her closer. “I love you, Sansa.” 

“I love you, Stannis” she nestled into his embrace, knowing that soon she’d have to get up and deal with her dress and the mess between her legs. But for now, she was perfectly content to doze in his arms. 

**Several Years Later**

“And House Arryn?” Sansa asked softly, pointing to the blue and white bird sigil on the page of the book. Little Eddard scrunched his nose as he thought over the question for several seconds, looking so much like his father in that moment that Sansa couldn’t help but smile. 

Eddard Steffon Baratheon was nearly six years old now and the spitting image of his father already. This, of course, meant that he also looked exactly like his older brother, Davos Brandon Baratheon. Davos, or Dav as they had taken to affectionately calling him, was just shy of ten years of age, his Father’s little shadow and the babe that had been born just ten months after their wedding, a gift from their first visit to Winterfell Sansa suspected. 

Both boys were already proving to have the Baratheon height, with inky black hair and bright blue eyes--though they were growing more and more Tully than Baratheon, with serious natures the majority of the time. 

“As high as honor?” Eddard guessed, looking back at her hopefully. 

“Correct” she beamed at him as shouting echoed from the Keep a second before Stannis emerged from the arched doorway, Dav bouncing around him as they walked. 

“Can I go and play now?” Eddard asked at the appearance of his older brother. 

“Of course” Sansa carefully leaned forward and kissed the crown of his hair before he slid from the table in the shade and ran to greet his Father and Brother. She followed him with her eyes, her gaze landing on her husband of just over a decade now, the man she loved more with each passing day. 

Stannis’ hair was all silver now, the last traces of black having vanished, he claimed, as he held her while she gave birth to their first child. Through all of her labors, Stannis had been at her side, which didn’t seem to surprise the midwife and nurses. It was no secret that the King had married her for love, and he would not leave her to bear the pains alone. So when Davos, Eddard and Cassana had come into the world, Stannis had been the first to hold each of them in the birthing room. 

But the years had been very kind to her husband, the realm had remained at peace and the war-hardened edge to his posture had softened, making him even more handsome. Today, after promising to be on his best behavior, Dav had joined Stannis in the morning’s Small Council meetings. Stannis thought it a good sign that Dav already wanted to learn the duties of the realm, and believed he would be a great King someday. 

“My Queen” Stannis greeted her with a soft kiss before placing another on the downy soft hair of their daughter, who was currently asleep on her lap. Cassana would be three years old soon, their darling little Princess who was the image of Stannis’ Mother, but with Sansa’s wild heart. 

“My King” Sansa smiled as he moved the chair closer and sat beside her at the table. From here they could see the boys running around the lawn, creating quite a raucous which meant that soon the younger Seaworth boys would hear and come to join in. “How was the meeting?” 

“The same as always” Stannis placed his arm on the back of her chair, toying with errant curls that had escaped her messy updo. “We accomplished what we needed to and went our separate ways. I was eager to spend the afternoon with my family.” 

“And we were eager to have you with us” Sansa agreed as Cassana stirred awake, likely having heard Stannis’ voice. 

“The Princess awakens” Stannis whispered, smiling at their Daughter and the little girl was instantly clamouring to climb into his lap. Cassana adored her Father and Sansa knew that there was a soft spot in Stannis’ heart for his little Princess. 

“Mommy made me eat vegetables” Cassana whined, situating her half-awake self on Stannis’ lap, Stannis’ free arm wrapping around her back to hold her. 

“How dare she!” Stannis gasped dramatically and Cassana giggled, snuggling to his chest where she would likely return to sleep soon. Sansa took the opportunity to pour herself a bit more lemonade now that her lap was free. Soon Cassana wouldn’t be able to sleep in her favorite spot, her stomach would be too large to allow it. Though they hadn’t told anyone yet, they would have another child in a few moons’ time and she and Stannis were overjoyed. 

She had just taken a sip of her lemonade and offered the glass to Stannis when shouting echoed from the Keep. A moment later Little Stannis, Steffon and their younger brother John rushed from the door, making their way to where Dav and Eddard were playing. Davos and Marya emerged shortly after, sitting across from her and Stannis at the table. 

“They’ll tire themselves out soon enough” Davos chuckled at the boys. “Gods know I could use an afternoon of peace.” 

“There will be another of them soon” Stannis told his oldest friend with a smile. 

“You’d better slow down Your Grace, soon you’ll have more than us” Davos replied with a laugh. 

“Four is hardly close” Sansa smiled. 

“Stick with four, anything more is nothing but Bedlam” Marya stage whispered to her, pouring lemonade for herself and Davos. Over the years in King’s Landing, she and Marya had grown very close. Marya was the older sister that Sansa had never had, not quite a mother figure, but loving and kind all the same.

“Four is a good number” Stannis agreed. “But so is five” his mouth twitched in an almost-smile and Sansa just laughed, shaking her head. 

Stannis watched as Sansa tucked Cassana into bed that night, admiring how lovely his wife managed to look as she performed even the simplest of tasks. The boys shared a room across the hall, but Cassie was still sleeping in the nursery in the room beside theirs. An arrangement that would soon change to accommodate the newest little Baratheon.

“Sleep well, my little darling” Sansa kissed Cassana’s forehead and once she had ensured she was tucked in safely, she crossed to where he stood in the doorway. His arms wrapped around his wife, as was habit, and he stole a kiss. 

“For once they’re all asleep at a reasonable hour” Stannis teased in a whisper, both of them moving from the door to pull it shut. The guards in the hall gave a small nod as he walked with Sansa towards their bedroom. “That means I have my Queen all to myself for the remainder of the evening.” 

“Do you” Sansa teased. While she had worked to tuck the children in bed, he had arranged for the large bathtub to be filled in the bathing room, and he was looking forward to an evening together spent naked in each others’ arms. 

“I mean to take advantage of such a rare evening” he closed their bedroom door behind him and Sansa wandered into the illuminated bathing room. 

“Oh” she smiled when she spotted the steamy tub. 

“You” Stannis kissed her neck. “Me” he trailed to her shoulder. “No clothing. Warm water.” 

“Sounds agreeable” she tilted her head to the side, allowing his lips to explore her nape. 

“Agreeable” he indulged himself in a brief moment of nuzzling his face into her fragrant hair. He adored his wife’s hair, the vibrant color and the fall thick curls, he could admire her hair for hours. Then again, he could admire his wife for hours, and he had on several occasions. 

They helped each other from their clothing, pausing beside the tub when Stannis caught sight of the slight swell of her stomach. Over the years since they had wed, Sansa’s body had changed and softened as her curves grew with each child, and soon she would bear their fourth. 

He had spent the entirety of his brief first marriage, under the impression that his body was incapable of producing offspring. His brothers’ ridicule seemed to cement that fact until he felt the lesser Baratheon. The few times he had visited Selyse’s bedroom and forced himself to touch her had been quick and cold, but with Sansa everything was different. So vastly different. They slept beside each other every night and made love every chance they could get, even stole gentle touches and kisses throughout their days, punctuating their duties to the realm. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise when only four moons into their marriage Maester Cressen had confirmed that Sansa was with child. Sansa had cried with happiness, covering his face in a dozen kisses and in return he held her tight, marvelling at the wonder that was his Queen. 

He watched her body grow and change, watched their child move beneath her flesh and when Davos Brandon was born, it was everything he could do not to sob as he held his Son in his arms for the first time. In the first year of their marriage, his wife had given him an heir, it was overwhelming. 

Now, ten years later, he was able to watch once more as her body changed and grew, as another Baratheon arrived in the world--a terrifying and exciting event. 

“I think that I am further along than we thought” she covered his hand on her stomach with hers. “Or this will be another tall Son, like his Father.”

“I cannot wait to meet him,” Stannis said softly. 

“Nor can I” she smiled. 

“Come” he stepped into the tub and helped her into the water. He sat with his back against the side and Sansa settled into the ‘v’ of his thighs, reclining against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, letting his hands roam her bare flesh. In kind, Sansa’s hands wandered his legs, fingers swirling absently around the caps of his knees as she hummed quietly. 

“This is perfect” she sighed, laying her head back onto his chest. 

“I agree” he kissed her temple. 

Stannis held her as their bodies relaxed in the warm rose oil-scented water. Beyond this room, no one would ever know that the man who had taken the Iron Throne by invasion, enjoyed holding his wife in their shared bath. No one would be close enough to smell the rose oil on their King’s skin, but each time his nose would catch the scent, he would think of Sansa and it would make his day easier to bear. His duties easier to fulfill.

Of course, he thought as his hands slid from her stomach to her breasts, her sigh reaching his ears as she arched into his touch, any man faced with such delicious beauty would follow a siren into the water. 

How could a man--a King possibly resist?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for pic sets and more shenanigans!  
> @the-red-wulf or https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/


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